


Dinner and a Movie

by Anythingtoasted



Series: Ordinary People [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 21:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anythingtoasted/pseuds/Anythingtoasted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part 2/2 of "Ordinary People". schmooptastic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner and a Movie

 Dean drives; Cas takes shotgun.

It’s apparently not good enough that they’re going to date; they have to date like it’s the 1950s. Cas sits beside him, messing with the radio even though Dean keeps slapping his hand away.

“Nora thinks you’re ‘cute’,” Cas tells him mildly, pressing buttons on the radio, seemingly at random. Strains of country music warble from the speakers before Dean turns the thing off again – not that that’ll last long. Cas is pretty persistent.

“Yeah?” He laughs. “She told you that?”

Cas nods. “She said, ‘good job.’”

Dean laughs again. “Yeah? You agree with her?”

Cas says, “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” which means _yes,_ and Dean laughs all the way into the theater.

Then it’s movie tickets, and standing awkwardly beside each other in line; Dean is nervous. He’s only ever been to the movies with his brother, and he’s pretty sure this is different, considering he swung by Cas’ work to pick him up tonight and kissed him on the mouth, and the night before had the _best_ dream about the back of his car, and handjobs. Kissing is easy; it’s this social minefield that he finds difficult to navigate, though Cas seems to hardly notice.

Cas is just staring at everything, like – well, like a guy who’s never been to a movie theater before. Dean sometimes forgets how _new_ he is, however old he is, too. He’s often relieved that Nora – and, from what Dean can tell, a couple of other people, too – slept with Cas before they started dating. Sometimes Dean thinks he’s not the best person to rely on for a ‘normal example’, so the fewer firsts they have together, perhaps the better; Dean doesn’t want to be his mentor, or take responsibility for his humanity. Most of the time, all he wants from Cas is for him to _be there._

“You want something to eat?” he asks before they get to the counter, and tries not to look too much like a sappy dork at the way Cas’ attention immediately snaps to the space behind the ticket seller.

“I’ve never had nachos,” he says, with such gravity that Dean can’t pin down his smile any longer.

They end up with two tickets for _Pacific Rim,_ and enough junk food to fill a small truck. Cas just gets everything he wants to try; he even picks up popcorn, despite the fact that he’s had it before, in the interest of seeing whether things taste different with and without his Grace. Cas pays for the food – Dean’s thankful that it doesn’t even occur to him to do the money-on-a-date awkward thing – and before he’s even finished paying, Dean is planning on stealing at _least_ half of it in the dark of the theater.

There’s something strange and clear about sitting beside him in there. They talk before the movie starts, but Cas looks at him irritably if Dean tries to talk to him after.

So Dean sits there; in the soft glow of the screen, with this strange man beside him, watching a movie about giant robots. Sam’ll be home from the hospital in a couple of days, and Dean doesn’t know how things will change, then; if they’ll go on as they have been, or if Sam will bring up any of the myriad of good reasons not to do this.

Despite those good reasons, he reaches for Cas’ wrist in the dark.

Cas leans over and kisses his temple, just below his hairline, and keeps hold of his hand – breaking only to shovel popcorn into his face – the whole way through.

It’s nice. He _likes_ Cas, fundamentally, all that other crap aside; and he’s got it pretty straight now that Cas likes him too.

Outside again, the light strange and bright, like emerging from beneath the ground, Cas talks to him about the movie as they cross the parking lot to the car. “I think you and your brother would be Drift Compatible,” he muses, and Dean almost doesn’t answer him at first, wondering if it would be okay to join their hands again as they walk. 

“Y’think?”

“Definitely.”

They get into the car. Dean wonders what Cas thinks of Idris Elba, and if those thoughts are similar at all to Dean’s own; his own being something generally in the vicinity of ‘holy shit’. “What about you and me?”

Cas grins, “Maybe.”

“We’re more like the chick and the dude than the dude and his brother.”

“Mako and Raleigh.”

“Gesundheit. Yeah,” he shrugs, and starts the car. “I think we’d be pretty good. We’ve taken on nastier stuff than the Kaiju.”

“Nothing so big.”

“Yeah, but we’d have a giant robot. _Easy._ ”

“When Sam comes back, will you tell him?” Cas says suddenly, and Dean falls briefly silent as he pulls the car out of the parking spot.

“That we’re drift compatible?”

“Dean.”

He frowns, asking himself the question. “I don’t know. Do you want to?”

“I think keeping it to yourself would be a stupid thing to do.” Cas doesn’t pull his punches, _ever,_ but sometimes maybe that’s a good thing.

They pull down the road – Dean considers asking him for dinner, make a whole thing of it, but there are burger patties in the bunker, and there’s _Dean’s_ oven there. Restaurants can’t really compete. Plus, the closer Cas is to his couch, to his bed, the better. He’s never stayed over before. “Yeah?” he says, mumbling, and Cas shifts in his seat beside him.

“Why not?”

“I’unno,” he shrugs, and tries to say it as casually as possible, “This is our thing.”

“It’ll still be ours, Dean, I’m not suggesting you invite him to join in,” Cas says reasonably. “Besides; you and your brother are very close. He’ll know, whether you tell him or not.”

Dean decidedly does _not_ want to tell him. Not only because he thinks there’s no reason his brother should be privy to his sex life, but also because Cas is _Cas,_ and things have been easy up until now. The balance is delicate, and Dean doesn’t want to be the one who upsets it. Let that come later.

There’s also the fact that Cas has a dick, and Dean isn’t exactly new to them, and he and Sam have never had that conversation before either. God knows his brother is Mr Politically Correct Peace and Love, but that’s about strangers; this is them. It’s a big deal. That’s all Dean can ever think about it, when he does; it’s a _big deal,_ and maybe it’s just better if he doesn’t say anything at all. Skip the conversation, keep secrets; anything, _anything_ is easier than talking about it.

But Cas loves him, and that’s important, too. Some small part of him, miniscule though it be, wants to grab every human soul he passes and shout in their face about it.

“I don’t know,” he says, truthfully, and Cas nods.

\---

He always feels a bit sexier in the kitchen. He doesn’t know if it’s the presence of food, or having Cas watch him, or his novelty apron; but it’s there, and he’s pretty sure it’s what makes Cas kiss him against the counter while he’s frying burgers and bacon. Cas makes a small, hungry noise against his mouth, and Dean pulls away to grin at him. “Is that for me, or the food?”

Cas shrugs, and kisses him again. Dean has to fend him off – reluctantly – to avoid burning the food.

“Go sit down, Don Juan. You’re distracting me.”

Cas looks more pleased with himself than perhaps he should, and spends the next few minutes sitting at the island counter in the kitchen, eyes on Dean’s every move. “I didn’t even know you cooked,” he says, with a strange note of melancholy, and Dean hums from where he is at the stove.

“Used to cook for my dad when I was a kid,” he shrugs, his back turned to Cas; it’s easier to tell these stories without looking another person in the eyes. “Make him breakfast when he was hungover, make him dinner after a long hunt. Made him easier to deal with, you know? Less… loud.”

Cas is briefly silent, then says, “You’ve always been a good man.”

Dean doesn’t know how to reply to that beyond making it a joke, and he doesn’t think that would be appropriate. He says nothing – vaguely nods, though he doesn’t know if he means it – and says, after a moment, “Do you want cheese?” Cas does.

Cas is a quiet eater. Not in sound – he makes plenty of that, and Dean wrinkles his nose but decides he finds it, like, sixty percent endearing – but he doesn’t talk much when he eats. That’s fine with Dean, mostly because he can talk enough for the both of them, always has; but he had forgotten how blunt, how horribly lovely, the things Cas sometimes says are. He doesn’t ever know how to approach him, after; how to say ‘thankyou’ without actually saying it outright.

They eat, and Cas occasionally smiles at him over a forkful, and Dean’s stomach does embarrassing, acrobatic things. By the time they’re finished, Dean wants nothing other than to touch him.

He does, of course, because these things get easier by the moment. Before he knows it they’ve left their empty plates behind, and Cas tastes warm and soft, and he’s getting the introduction to Dean’s room that Dean never consciously planned.

He lies back on the bed with Cas over him, cupping his face in both hands. For a moment he worries that Cas will say something mortifying again; the first time they ever woke up together, Cas rolled over and said “You are a wonder,” and Dean blushed for about a week. But he doesn’t say anything, really; just “Dean,” very softly, before he kisses the underside of Dean’s jaw.

Both of them sleepy with food, Dean still slightly fogged from the dark of the movie theater, nothing much goes anywhere; they kiss, and Dean gets his shirt off, gets his hand into Cas’ pants, pulls Cas in, closer, tighter against him. But it doesn’t amount to much more than that; the fumble of Cas’ half-hard dick in his cupped hand; Dean laughing embarrassedly against Cas’ cheek. Wordlessly they undress each other, all the way down to socks and underwear, and then Cas makes this noise, this careful sigh, and Dean rolls them over onto their sides.

He just wants to touch him, always, in every way. Having his hands on Cas feels like a fucking miracle, however pathetic that might be. Cas slides his hand into Dean’s hair, and Dean’s foot ends up between Cas’ ankles, Dean’s knee between his thighs, their foreheads touching.

“In the morning.” Cas says, in answer to Dean’s unasked question, and Dean nods, content. He thinks this is the least worried about sex he’s ever been; it’ll be good when it happens, and it’ll happen. Tomorrow morning, or a week from now, or months down the line. It’ll be good, probably – and if it’s bad, they’ll work on it.

In the morning he wakes to the sound of rain softly drumming on the roof above him, and to Cas pressing soft kisses to the insides of his thighs. He lifts his head; from where he is, he can only see Cas’ head under the blankets, his hands splayed over Dean’s hips.

“Morning, Cas,” he mumbles, enjoying the loose, wet work of Cas’ mouth, arousal a soft and distant heat at the base of his spine, though his dick is definitely, _definitely_ into what’s happening. Cas takes the time to push his nose against Dean’s crotch before he replies.

“I thought you’d never wake up.”

“Makin’ me sleepy.” Dean grins, limbs soupy and lax. He finds Cas’ hand with his own, then slides his fingers into Cas’ hair. “What’re you doin’ down there?”

Cas lifts his head, gives Dean a deeply, deeply incredulous look, and doesn’t answer. Instead, he slides his hands down, hooking them under the waistband of Dean’s boxers, and peels them down his thighs, coaxing Dean to lift his leg with a hand on the underside of his thigh. Dean likes him, his deliberateness, especially applied to this. He always thinks a dick looks sorta funny, a little bit slapstick comedy, erect and demanding and flushed, but Cas looks at every part of him like he’s the fucking pyramids or the Parthenon or that giant ball of twine, always, and Dean appreciates it, even if he has no fucking clue how to respond.

Cas only breaks eye contact with him long enough to get Dean’s cock into his mouth, and then Dean is lost; tugged away softly, endlessly, the only conscious thing in his mind how his own hands feel, curling in the sheets beneath him; how the inside of Cas’ mouth is just like anyone else’s, and somehow that comes as a surprise. He thinks he makes embarrassing noise – he thinks he says, _god, love you,_ again – and then Cas is pulling off, spitting into his own hand, wiping it on the side of the bed, and dipping his head to nose at Dean’s navel, trembling with Dean’s soft laughter.

“You fuck. Where the fuck. What the _fuck_ ,” he sounds hysterical; he _is._ Cas crawls up to push his cheek against Dean’s, and Dean thinks that’s _way_ too much like getting away with it.

He turns his head to catch Cas’ mouth. Cas kisses him briefly and mumbles, “Wait,” and Dean feels the hot press of Cas’ cock against his navel, startling and solid and warm. Cas braces himself above Dean and gasps and shudders as he jacks himself over Dean’s stomach, choking a startled breath when he spills onto Dean’s skin.

Dean gives him maybe twenty seconds to recover – Cas kicks both their sets of underwear down to the foot of the bed – and then he rolls them over so he’s pressed chest to chest with Cas, looking him carefully in the eyes. “Where the _fuck_ did you learn to do that?”

Cas looks back at him. “I asked.”

“Who did you ask?”

“Nora.”

Dean stares at him for a minute before he bursts out laughing. “Are you serious?”

Cas nods. “She was – I thought she might know, and I wanted to do it, and the internet is notoriously unreliable.”

“Well, you know, it was,” Dean swallows. “It. You know.” He laughs. “You know what I mean.” Cas is grinning; he does. “You’re so weird.”

“So are you,” Cas replies, and Dean just starts laughing again; he lets Cas pull them closer together.

He hears the rain, outside. Dean lost track of it somewhere but the noise is still being made, soft foot-step patter; gentle, liquid thuds. He looks down at Cas; Cas stares back.

Cas lifts a hand, slowly, to touch Dean’s face. He smiles, just barely. “This is the best part,” he says, assuredly, and Dean honestly doesn’t know if he means sex, or being human. Either way, Dean thinks he agrees.

“Do you have to go to work?”

“Not today.”

Dean grins. “You want breakfast?”

“Not yet,” Cas says, so quiet Dean can hear the rain, louder than his voice.

“About Sam,” Dean says eventually, thinking of the trip he’ll take today; all the way to the hospital then finally back here, Sam bundled shotgun, all right with the world (or as close as it ever gets). “Can I have a little time, before I tell him?”

Cas’ smile is lopsided. “Of course.” He touches Dean’s nose with his thumb, hand still cupped around his cheek. “It’s not up to me, Dean.”

Dean nods. “I know. I just. I want him to know, you know? Just not-”

“Not yet.”

“Yeah.”

Cas leans up and kisses him. “Take your time,” he says. “He’ll be happy, Dean.”

Dean frowns a little at that, unsure; but he finds Cas’ hand under the bedsheets, and hangs on. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

It is six hours until he has to get out of bed; has to shower, get dressed, start the drive. He’ll think about it all – what it is, what it all means,how it will change _–_ later.

For now, he has Cas in his bed; a hand linked with his, and his brother is coming home.


End file.
